


throw me in the deep end (let me drown)

by kctsudon



Series: trust the hours [2]
Category: GOT7
Genre: Fluff, M/M, a bit of angst, but the last portions are fluff all the way, like there's more angst at the first half
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 11:55:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5374391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kctsudon/pseuds/kctsudon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which jackson doesn't know where he went wrong, and mark tries to convince him that he never did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	throw me in the deep end (let me drown)

**Author's Note:**

> title inspired by hold me down by halsey, it's my first time writing markson so if i don't hit the right notes accurately, don't kill me. (i love them so much though)

i.

at the age of six, jackson thinks that he’s understood the central dogma of life. if you love how you look, how you speak and who you are, you love yourself. and if you love yourself, and love the people around you, people love you for who you are. its that simple, and when he trods towards his parents for confirmation with his banana printed socks padding softly against the parquet flooring, he isn’t disappointed.

 

ii.

jackson’s woken up at the break of dawn for his first day of elementary school and despite his father’s offers, he insists on changing into his uniform on his own. taking it as a statement of growing up into a young boy with huge dreams, jackson takes pride in their approval and slips himself (with some difficulty) into his creased pants and has no issues with buttoning his new crisp shirt. evidently taking a little longer than time could afford, his parents call for him from downstairs and he rushes to get his bag.

before he leaves the room, he doesn’t forget to run over his newfound secret to life in his mind and nod at his reflection in the mirror. small feet slipped into brand new sneakers, he gets into the car with high hopes for his first day of school.

everything goes as planned, jackson easily fits into the class by being nice to everyone, getting into a habit of greeting his teachers and classmates with a wide grin on a daily basis. he makes it a point to be there for everyone, rushing to help when janice drops her eraser or letting yugyeom get his lunch before him even though yugyeom’s behind him in the queue. in no time, he finds himself surrounded with friends, and he thinks that his dogma’s flawless.

loving yourself is that easy, and getting others to love you might just be a little easier.

 

iii.

the first time he wavers is when he enters his final year of elementary school and the boys are getting a little rowdier than before. by then he’d become best friends with yugyeom and the two of them were literally inseparable. they sat together in class and had lunch together during their short breaks on the rooftop shoulder to shoulder with their packed lunches placed carefully on their laps. jackson didn’t go a day without entering the class to find yugyeom greeting him gleefully, and yet a week before their midterms, he’s greeted with something unusual.

yugyeom’s there, sure he is, but his supplies are strewn all over the floor and he’s crouching over hugging his knees a distance away in the other corner of the room. jackson’s breath hitches when he sees a faint hint of red staining his best friend’s filmy white top and his suspicions are confirmed an hour later when he’s dabbing wet tissues against yugyeom’s wounded forehead and the latter merely slumps against the sink in silence.

“so, what _exactly_ happened?” jackson finally speaks, his voice coming out a little harsher than he’d expected but yugyeom doesn’t seem affected by it, and merely shakes his head.

“nothing much, i was just talking to wes last night and like you said if you love yourself and all, people should love you for who you are, and i believe in that-” yugyeom barely starts and jackson knows what’s going on. he’s aware that his best friend has had the biggest crush on wes for two years, which was understandable given that wes was literally the most charismatic guy in the level. of course, yugyeom had his qualms about liking a guy but jackson always smoothened his creased eyebrows and pushed these uncertainties away with his claims of his infallible dogma. yugyeom must’ve confessed whilst yearning for being accepted for a newfound trait which he had struggled with because he knew that it was different, because he knew that typically he couldn’t like boys. but he believed in that _stupid_ dogma.

and here his best friend was, beaten and labeled as abnormal by the person he’d idolized for years.

until their graduation, yugyeom constantly reminds him that it wasn’t his fault and his dogma wasn’t all that stupid, it just wasn’t universally inclusive. jackson thinks that’s right, and so on the night after their graduation ceremony, he decides on a new definition for his future.

loving yourself is easy, but even if you love someone, it takes more than those traits for others to love you back.

 

iv.

on his first day of being a sophomore, he isn’t as excited as he previously was when he trod to elementary school with aplomb. upon his parents questioning, he comes up with two reasons, one being the fact that he didn’t sleep well the night before while thinking of slipping out of his routine without yugyeom, and the second being thinking that over the holidays he’d grown out of his tapered pants (which was clearly an excuse).

he was just a little uncertain about facing an entirely foreign environment with a new dogma which he hoped should’ve been infallible by then. and in reality he was afraid that it’ll be proven wrong again.

instead of slipping into the class with bright smiles and clueless sincerity, jackson settles for slumping into the seat in the corner of the class silently that morning, greeting anyone who acknowledges his presence with a soft grin and a ‘hi’ which probably sounded more like a grunt. he’s not used to this because the jackson he remembers being is someone who shoots his mouth off and talks like nobody’s business, but he’s not sure if it’ll make people like him and hence he learns to be a little guarded, just a little.

the first person he truly interacts with after five days is the boy seated next to him called mark. progressing from stealing glances at jackson to accidentally dropping his eraser a little over the line separating their tables, forearms brushing and exchanging a few words, jackson doesn’t really think much about it. it first happens when he’s falling asleep in the middle of their ninth period and he feels warm fingers wrap around his forearm. he startles awake and is close to mumbling apologies when he looks up and realises that the fingers don’t belong to their math teacher but rather the boy next to him who greets him with an expression of a mixture of shock, embarrassment and relief.

“try to stay awake, it’s important for the upcoming test,” he says gently and jackson merely nods in reply, before turning back to his notes. yet from his peripheral vision, he catches the boy shaking his head with an enigmatic expression which would’ve passed of as amusement if his cheeks weren’t tinted with the lightest of pink hues.

jackson goes to sleep later that night with the boy’s voice ringing in his head and the image (or perhaps imagination) of his coloured cheeks, and frowns a little when he feels a strange warmth in his chest which he likes – it’s been awhile, and he falls asleep stifling his smile with his palm.

maybe it isn’t that difficult to make a friend, maybe he doesn’t have to keep trying to be anyone else but himself.

 

v.

on jackson’s seventeenth’s birthday, he wavers yet again.

true, he’s been getting to know mark better but they never breached past the barrier of morning greetings and asking questions about everything that’s taught during math class. mark’s naturally quiet and even though his voice is gentle and sometimes reminds jackson of nights back in hong kong when breathing was light and being home felt like heaven even though he was only six when they shifted to korea. there’s something that makes jackson feel undoubtedly comfortable with their forearms nearly touching during lessons but he isn’t quite ready to open up because he knows better. he thinks he does, even though the manner in which the hopeful glimmer in mark’s eyes falls everytime jackson stops replying to their little conversations sends minute jolts through his chest.

having grown up on definitions which had only been proven wrong with the addition of years of maturity and inches of height, jackson’s insecurities seep through the pores of his skin and runs in his veins. he doesn’t really know who he is or what he wants, so much so that he can’t remember how he would’ve reacted to greetings or basically any situation if he had been that same six year old boy who practically knew nothing about the society.

 

vi.

the next day, jackson gets hit for the first time and gains a broken nose. it’s not the last time.

jackson also takes his statement back, because something isn’t right.

constantly shuttling between thinking that acceptance is easy and the notion that people aren’t going to accept him as who he is, jackson doesn’t understand why he’s this confused because as compared to what yugyeom went through years ago, this shouldn’t matter.

being called chubby or having a ball thrown pointedly at his face to mock at his acne doesn’t amount to the struggles he had given his best friend then because of his juvenile dogma.

being pushed against the lockers and having derogatory terms which he had only remembered as words which his parents had always forbidden him from uttering hurled at him was alright, it wasn’t that bad, he could take that much.

at seventeen, jackson stands taller at 5’7” and he’s strong from nights of sleepless training with his saber and the dummy placed in the middle of the practice room. he’s convinced that his virtures and beliefs are built on nothing but plain contradictions but he’s guarded, he’s well guarded by physical strength and an obnoxious front which shouldn’t be penetrated easily.

and yet he’s defenseless whenever the same group of three corner him in the corridor after practice and repeatedly spit fire raps about how he should apologise for existing in this world and being an eyesore to every individual in the school, how he should lose some weight on his thighs and get taller because he’s got really short legs, and how he probably stands out in the yearbook photos because the rest of the class appear to be apples next to a watermelon when he’s there.

he doesn’t have the strength to disagree, and eventually, perhaps, he gives in.

 

vii.

jackson decides that it’s entirely whimsical and too ideal to be able to love himself, to even love his physical appearance.

 

viii.

two months before the final papers, jackson stops eating lunch in the cafeteria and mark starts to notice.

jackson learns to stand before the mirror every morning bare chested, holding his breath and sucking his stomach in so hard he thinks he might cease to exist, just like that.

 

viv.

jackson stops going for fencing practices.

he thinks that exercising doesn’t really cut your muscles or your weight, maybe starving works better. even fencing can’t make him feel good about himself anymore. his parents ask, but he waves it off as the need to focus on revision and they take it, as simple as breathing.

 

x.

two days into the finals, jackson collapses right after the chemistry paper ends and mark rushes to catch him, his mind in a whirl.

mark carries him to the sick bay with a little difficulty, and barely makes it when he hears the nurses rushing out to receive the sweating boy. they later call his parents, and upon questioning, they tell mark that the boy hasn’t been eating and probably passed out due to fatigue. when mark steadies himself and pushes the curtains open, there’s a tube linked messily to his seatmate’s right hand and with disheveled hair and a drenched yellowed filmy uniform top clinging to his heaving chest, he doesn’t understand how he never realised how thin jackson had gotten.

mark doesn’t understand _anything_ , how the boy with a toothy grin he’d first seen in first grade became a guarded and confused individual on the first day of high school, and especially how he’d become this mess.

there are too many things that mark doesn’t know about this boy because he hasn’t known anything about him since he first saw him trod into school with a radiant smile which could’ve been enough to light up the entire universe three years ago. he never got the chance to talk to him, partially due to his incapability with words and also due to the sharp change in jackson which he’d observed despite being undoubtedly happy to see him on the first day of high school. (he’d even thanked every god that he’d known of in a split second when he found out that he was his seatmate.)

but the one thing that mark knows now it that this boy is beautiful when he’s asleep, eyelids shut gently and breaths steady. and so he decides to get to know him better, because he doesn’t like seeing this jackson, he likes seeing the boy who made him prefer the sun over the moon, the boy who radiated nothing but genuine warmth even on winter afternoons.

 

xi.

mark wants to start a conversation with jackson because he’s just returned to school after taking sick leave for a week, but he doesn’t know how to. he can’t start by revealing the fact that he’s seen him around for three years and wants to get to know him because jackson probably doesn’t even remember or, fucking know that he went to the same elementary school as he did. that’d be creepy, and so mark settles for letting his head fall into his hands and groan inwardly, this isn’t working as planned.

after five minutes of silence comprising of their home room teacher droning on about ethics and constantly glancing over to observe jackson, who was close to falling asleep with a slight frown, mark takes his leap of faith and decides to try to initiate a conversation.

“um, hello,” he manages to choke out, sounding gentler than he’d expected himself to, fortunately. jackson seems to hear him but keep his eyes fixated on the bright projector screen for a few minutes, as though chewing intently on the short three syllables which had been hurled in his way at eight in the morning.

“thanks for bringing me to the sick bay that day,” jackson sounds tired, really tired, and his voice comes out so hoarse and raw that it makes mark think that he probably hadn’t talked in days and found it abnormal to finally be finding his voice again.

“no worries, i had to,” mark declares and silence falls again.

indignant about the quietude which had grown conversely to his strong determination to get to know the boy better, mark asks if he’s feeling better and jackson pauses for a few seconds before nodding curtly and muttering something so softly that mark has to strain to make out the chunked up syllables forming something like ‘nothing to worry about’. it ends well, even though it wasn’t as animate a conversation as he hoped to get – but its something.

as jackson leaves the room with a soft muttered goodbye, the way his shoulders slump jolting mark a little in his chest and he bites on his bottom lip a little to hard.

 

xii.

mark’s on a mission, now that jackson is beginning to talk to him a little more and smiles more, albeit less radiant as he would’ve liked it to be. he’s a man on a mission to bring jackson to the cafeteria and eat with him just so that he can get back on track.

but it’s not that easy.

“hey jackson, eat with me later.” mark says when there’s five minutes to the end of the period. the said boy lets out a ridiculous grunt and slumps over the table in protest.

“you really have to start eating normally, it’s almost time for the mid years and if you’re going to keep up like this you’ll be falling asleep and drooling all over your notes.” he doesn’t get a reply.

this one-sided conversation continues until they’re both in the last few weeks of fall, where jackson has gone back to fencing but doesn’t seem as quick on his feet as he seemed to be before and mark has dedicated himself to voluntarily becoming a broken record in the boy’s eyes. he really doesn’t have to do this, as jackson has emphasised over the past year. he claims indignantly that he’s been getting as much nutrition as he needs from apples and zero calorie pudding juices but his performance tells mark otherwise and mark doesn’t understand why he refuses to acknowledge the truth.

so mark tries to think of taking another approach, and plans to give it a shot when they’re staying back after class in the empty room to finish their lab report on a chilly friday afternoon. jackson’s sneezing helplessly as he tries not to get snort on his pen whenever he rubs his nose, unknowingly scooting closer to mark with every jerk of his body. halfway through the open-ended question, they declare that they deserve a five minute break for wrecking their heads that late in the afternoon in weather which was duly suited for a nap. mark thinks that it’s the best time to execute his plan, but jackson surprises him by being the one who starts talking first.

“since i was young i always thought that life was simple, loving yourself was simple, loving someone was simple and getting accepted as who you are was a given,” he starts, his voice shaking a little. he’s not sure if talking about this will ruin his friendship and half expects his seatmate to judge him because regardless of how warm and beautiful a person he might be, jackson can’t be sure. he pauses, as though waiting for mark to reply him scornfully with a cynical remark that never comes.

“is that not it?”

“no, not really. thanks to that idea, my best friend in elementary school got scarred for loving someone, and i got myself into this mess,” jackson growls and lets his head fall onto his seatmate’s shoulder casually, leaving mark a little dizzy but sober enough to process his words.

“you could pick it back up,” mark starts gently after a long pause, making a close attempt to hide his uncertainty, “and start again, from where you began.”

“but i can’t, because i don’t remember where i began. i can’t remember walking down a corridor without thinking about whether the other guys will think i’m smiling too brightly for a monday morning or putting up an arrogant front if i frown, or even if i’d look like a retard if i keep a straight face. i can’t remember being comfortable in my skin, not even after i’ve done all of _this_ ,” jackson’s close to hissing when he ends his sentence and these details hit mark like a freight train.

he finally understands why he’s always seen him shifting his gaze ten times in a few seconds when he’s walking down the corridor, and why he doesn’t eat in the cafeteria but slumps on the rooftop with a single apple in his hand and why it took him this long to talk to mark properly.

he isn’t just affected by insults, neither is he just stubbornly blocking out the truth.

jackson can’t see the truth because the insecurities pumping through his veins cloud his vision and the flowers which mark had once seen blooming on a summer morning had already been replaced by weeds and vines all of which had long formed taut knots around his pale wrists. and after five years, mark _finally_ understands this boy.

“i grew up thinking that you should never apologise for the space you occupy in this world, albeit small or jarring,” mark starts and carefully puts his arm around his seatmate’s shoulder, “because we all have this little fraction of this world that belongs to us uniquely, and you don’t let anyone take it from you once you’ve found it.”

jackson lets out a soft snort and leans closer into mark’s collarbone, “and exactly how does one find that little fraction?”

“it’s arbitrary, you define it. if you want it to be yourself, you can take it. if you want it to be fencing, or star-gazing or even cooking, you name it, it’ll be yours.”

“and it’ll be yours because you put in effort for it,” mark starts before jackson can protest, “and so loving yourself is simple if you focus on who you really are. you don’t have to be thin in brats’ eyes to love yourself, and you don’t have to be loud and cheery in elementary school and let kids jump the queue just to get people to like you, you can be you. because that’s probably a thousand times more attractive than anyone you’ve tried to mould yourself into.”

 

xiii.

on christmas day, he wakes up at seven in the morning snuffling and sits up weakly with his blanket wrapped around his shivering shoulders. his phone rings it’s usual tingly jingle and mark swears that it’s a dig at his predicament until he sees the familiar name flash across the screen.

its a message from jackson on kakao, swarmed by a chunk of stickers. the bright moving peach heads are a little too fast for him to process at first, but he scrolls a little further and finds a little line of text which he would’ve skipped too easily.

> jackson: hey, let’s have lunch together today. you’re treating though, it should be big enough a present for you.

mark nearly stops breathing and squints at the words, praying that he didn't read any bit of it wrong. he's read it fifteen times and he lets out a breathless laugh before choking on his breath stupidly and entering a little coughing fit. still grinning a little, he thinks that he looks extremely stupid to be that happy while wheezing away on christmas but he drowsily clicks on the green button at the top corner of the screen.

“jacks, listen, i’m so fucking glad that you’re willing to eat a proper meal, finally, like good lord, i can’t-but i don’t think i can make it today?” mark drones lazily into the phone and slumps against the wall.

“what the hell, bro, this should’ve been the biggest thing ever!” jackson literally whines and mark can imagine him flailing angrily with his hand running through his bed hair (he doesn’t usually wake up before seven) and it’s pretty cute.

“no i didn’t mean that i’m,” mark sneezes and he hears a loud screech on the other end of the receiver, “what-”

“are you sick? okay hold up, forget lunch, we’re getting breakfast.”

“the fuck, jacks, how-” mark starts but doesn’t get a reply besides the faint sound of shuffling and screeches, a lot of high pitched screeches. at that moment, he presumes that there's something extremely wrong with jackson because he just proposed getting a meal together as opposed to mark literally dragging him down to the cafeteria just to gain a pair of deadpan eyes watching him awkwardly shove bland vegetables down his throat. maybe he was sleep-talking or sleep-typing, if that even existed. but when he sneezes for the fifth time in three seconds, mark gives up and falls back under his blankets.

he’s woken up about an hour later by his mother with a cheeky smile and trudges down the stairs after putting his beanie on, and he’s not sure why he isn’t that surprised when he sees jackson sitting at one end of their dining table in the living room with three paper bags placed in front of him.

“bringing breakfast right to your doorstep in the middle of winter,” his mother chimes before leaving to clear his sister’s room and mark feels his breath hitch a little, his cheeks getting a little hotter than it was before.

mark shakes his head and squints at the beaming figure in front of him before finding his way to the seat opposite him, “i have too little caffeine in my body to comprehend what’s going on.”

“if you’re sick we can’t go out for lunch, so i thought breakfast delivery would work!”

“good grief.”

 

xiv.

jackson ends up eating more than an apple, in fact he downs two-thirds of the triple pancake meal after a little hesitation albeit without the butter and maple syrup. but mark finds himself grinning so hard that he feels like he’s never felt this happy before, especially so when jackson returns it five times brighter.

“we’re getting somewhere.”

“best christmas present ever, right?”

mark snorts but does a pretty bad job in stifling the smile that’s tugging at his lips. in a wild attempt to shift the focus because the boy sitting opposite him is looking a little too smug, his eyes fall on the third paper bag left untouched and points at it, “so what’s that.”

one swift motion and the five different kinds of medicine for treating colds fall out of the bag, lying in a heap. jackson tells him that he doesn’t know if he has any drug allergies and that some brands work better for different people. mark doesn’t really know how someone like that could exist, wonderfully adorable and yet such a dork half the time.

“self-medication can be fatal, you know.”

**Author's Note:**

> i really tried, and i hoped it's okay. i'm still reading it through to find places to edit if required, so yeah. i spent three days straight writing this and i'm just going to search some cat videos up to relax a little. hope you guys liked it, my goodness.


End file.
